at thought's edge, past a mountain peak in pine, there is a fountain, terraced, calciferous — silent in the sun, save for a susurrus of ripples — I met a wretch who said:
Read by Meg Moseman
The Mythic Circle: Vol. 2020:
42, Article 16.
Available at: https://dc.swosu.edu/mcircle/vol2020/iss42/16
Copyright held by Artist